Claymore
by Juleeroze
Summary: Why is Claymore so inept with women? Is it just his penny pinching and clumsiness or is it something else?


**Claymore**

by Julie Feldman

As always, the characters of "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir" are the property of 20th Century Fox and R.A. Dick. I make no money from this story.

_This story occurs after "Love is a Toothache", "Make Me a Match" and "Ladies Man". _It is a tribute to Charles Nelson Reilly, a truly underrated actor. We are currently celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. Today, being LGBTQ is not what it once was, but still not always easily accepted. CNR was never in the closet. He lived his life as what he always was; a proud and openly gay man. If you haven't seen the video of his one-man show, _Save it For the Stage: The Life of Reilly_, I urge you to do so. You will come to see him as more than the over-the-top comedian, the game show participant, the always willing Johnny Carson guest. I hope this little story does him proud. However, if you are uncomfortable with the topic of homosexuality (and my story does include a very little bit of physical contact between two men), please, by all means, pass it by.

"Thank you, Mrs. Muir." She was always on time with her rent check. It would be nice if some of his other tenants were as punctual.

Carolyn Muir sat at the side of Claymore Gregg's desk that April morning. Normally after handing over her check she'd say her goodbyes and leave, but today she lingered in the office, the morning sun slanting over her red coat.

"I want to thank you, Claymore, for taking Martha out again last night. She's lonely with Ed away, and every once and awhile she thinks back to that disastrous night with Dr. Rodman and his mother." In fact, it had been over a year, but Mrs. Rodman's less-than-subtle insinuations still rankled.

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Muir! It was a pleasure. Martha is a wonderful woman, and, well, it's just nice to have a simple, enjoyable evening with a friend with no expectations, no strings attached."

"Yes," Carolyn sighed. "If only…" she thought to herself.

Claymore leaned over toward her, looking right, then looking left as he spoke confidentially to her. "I know you think that I made a great success with your two girlfriends." He raised his hand to readjust his tie nervously. "And it _was_ a wonderful evening, but I must confess, nothing ever came of it. I don't seem to really have what it takes to bring a relationship to the next level. Oh, yes! I did really intend to propose to your friend Aggie Burns. It would have been an excellent partnership. We really did see eye-to-eye on so many important points. But, quite honestly, if her old boyfriend hadn't called her back to him, I'm not sure what would have really happened between us. I just don't get that rush of feeling that the movies say you're supposed to have when you hold a beautiful woman in your arms."

"You probably just haven't met the right woman yet, Claymore!" Mrs. Muir patted him sympathetically on the arm.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Muir. I'm getting the feeling that there isn't a 'right' woman for me. You see, when you and I were practicing the waltz for the Seafarer's Ball, and the Captain took over my body to dance with you, I was aware of it. Aware of every move, every word, every emotion the Captain felt with you in his arms. I've never felt like that in my life. I couldn't even imagine feeling like that with anyone."

"Well, Claymore," This was embarrassing to Carolyn. Her feelings for Daniel Gregg were extraordinary, to say the least, as were his for her. She didn't want to share them with anyone, and apparently they'd already shared them with Claymore. "You must realize what a passionate person the Captain was…is…We can't all expect to experience something like that." It was past time to get out of Claymore's office. The conversation had gone too many places that Carolyn didn't want to go.

"Mama, I'm going out. I've got to go up to Schooner Bay." Dr. Milton Rodman, DDS usually liked to play golf on Wednesdays, his day off, that is if his elderly mother didn't have something planned for him. However, today he had an errand to run.

"You're not going to see that Grant woman, are you, Dear? You know what I think of her."

"No, Mama. I don't think Martha Grant ever wants to see me again. She hasn't even come in for a cleaning since we last saw her. I do hope she found another dentist. Semi-annual cleanings are so important for dental health, as you know." Mrs. Rodman inclined her head, regally. "No, I'm only going up there because our notary public is on vacation, and I must get something taken care of for the office. Is there anything you might need in Schooner Bay?"

"No Dear. I'm fine here by myself. But do hurry back. You never know when you might have an emergency call."

Milton really did love his mother, stifling though she could be. He lived with her, of course. When he was young teenager his father had passed away, and his mother had to carry-on on her own. Now he supported her, and she kept house for him. However, she was getting on in years and he felt it was his responsibility to care for her. His father's passing was now many, many years in the past, and he had no siblings. It was just the two of them. Of course, he had relished his time in college and dental school in Boston. It was the one and only time he could really be himself. Even so, he had to be careful, always navigating the shoals between convention and desire.

Once he was in Schooner Bay, he parked the car and then went over to the office of Claymore Gregg, real estate agent, head of the Town Council, Chief of the volunteer Fire Department, Justice of the Peace and Notary Public. My, the man had a lot of irons in the fire!

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gregg."

"Ah, yes! You're Dr. Rodman, correct? What can I do for you?" What a coincidence, seeing a movie with Martha just last night and now having her erstwhile suitor here today. Claymore took a closer look at him; he didn't seem to be Martha's type. Ed Peavy could dive into one of her wonderful meals and still come up for a piece, or three, of cherry pie. The dentist didn't look like he could manage more than a few tablespoons of her chowder.

"Yes, I'm Milton Rodman. I need something notarized."

"Of course!" Claymore took out his notary seal and his stamp with a flourish and then handed a pen to Milton. "If you would be so kind as to sign your document. Excellent. And what beautiful penmanship, I must say!"

"Thank you." The dentist bowed his head slightly at the compliment as Claymore squeezed his seal onto the document and then stamped and initialed it. Rodman looked him over. "A very precise person. I like that," he thought to himself. "And if I may be so forward," he continued out loud, "the way that you handle those articles," pointing at the Seal of Commission and the stamp, "shows me that you are good with your hands. You would have made a very good dentist if you had chosen to go into the field."

Claymore blushed. "Oh no! To be quite honest with you, I don't think I would enjoy having my hands in someone's mouth all day. I'd much rather stay with a business career."

"Well, it's not for everyone, obviously. But it is rewarding; helping those with dental problems, and it can be quite lucrative, you know."

"Lucrative, do you say? I'm sure a practice like yours must be carefully managed. Do you have enough insurance? You never know these days. One unhappy patient and it could all be lost. I do sell insurance and I would be glad to look over your current policies and see if you are properly taken care of."

"Well," mused Milton, "it has been a while since they've been evaluated. Perhaps we could make an appointment for next Wednesday morning. I'll bring you all my certificates and we can go over them."

"Wonderful!" Claymore responded. He turned a few pages on his desk calendar and wrote in it, finishing with a flourish. "I look forward to it, Dr. Rodman."

"Please, call me Milton. And may I call you Claymore?"

Claymore was surprised at how he looked forward to the return of Milton Rodman. The man was very nice, much more refined that the average person you met in these small Maine towns these days. They probably had many things in common, many topics they could talk about. Ed, Norrie, Deke and the others were good folk, but really, they were totally lacking in the sophistication that he, Claymore Gregg, had in abundance. The dentist had it as well, so there should be many things they could discuss and enjoy together. It would be a fine friendship.

Indeed, when they met the following week in Claymore's office, the two men found that their conversation included so much more than just insurance. They both enjoyed opera and stage shows, didn't care too much for sports, despite Claymore being the Schooner Bay Oyster's Little League baseball coach ("It's a great way to advertise the business"), dreamed of travel and while Claymore had his "Dickie-Bird", Milton had his cat, "Coco".

They spent so much time talking about themselves that they found it was past twelve-thirty. Claymore invited Milton across the street to Norrie's Lobster House for lunch and they carried on their conversation for another two and a half hours.

When Milton arrived home, he found Mother sitting in her chair, her spine erect and her face furious. "I was so worried, Milton! I didn't know where you were. I tried the office and your answering service, and no one had any idea where you could be found. Why didn't you telephone me to let me know that you wouldn't be home when you said you'd be?"

"I'm sorry, Mama. Time just got away with me. That Claymore Gregg fellow is a very nice man. We had lunch together. He's very refined, you know. We had a marvelous time chatting. We must invite him to dinner. He'd love to hear your recordings of Caruso and Luisa Tetrazzini."

"We'll see, Milton. As you know, I'm not always up to entertaining and I'm angry with you for being so thoughtless. I did say that I would need you to take me shopping this afternoon, didn't I?"

"Yes, Mama, you did. I'll take you right now. Where would you like to go, Mama? The dress shop? The appliance store? The florists?" He was running out of places his mother usually shopped at on Wednesdays. "Not the Five and Ten Cents store, surely? They have such terribly cheap items, you know. Nothing of class and style that you could possibly want!"

"Of course they're cheap Milton! That's why it's called a Five and Ten Cents store! And I only go in if I need sewing materials or some such thing. But I don't want to go out anymore. I exhausted myself worrying about you."

The next Wednesday was May 5th, and it was becoming warmer and the forsythia had bloomed and now its leaves were turning from a fresh, bright green into a darker, more mature color. The mornings were still cool, but the afternoons were very pleasant. Milton had invited Claymore to his golf club to play a round with him and then they would collect Mrs. Rodman and go to lunch. Claymore arrived, dressed in tweeds, his old leather golf bag beginning to crack in places. Much as he had told his friend how he enjoyed the game, he really only played when someone paid for the outing. After all, why pay good money to hit a little ball around? Especially one he didn't always see that well. Needless to say, he wasn't very good. After missing the tee four times (not counting when he first walked _into_ the tee and the last time when he over-balance while lifting the golf club up over his shoulder for another whack at the ball and fell flat on his back), Milton cleared his throat and stepped up to give Claymore some assistance. First he explained; then he demonstrated; finally, he positioned Claymore's feet and arms. Once again, flailing away, Claymore completely missed the ball.

"I'm sorry, Milton. I guess you can see that I don't really play golf."

"Why, that's quite all right, Clay. You don't mind me calling you that, do you?" Milton asked. "Claymore is entirely too formal, don't you think?" No one had ever called him anything other than "Claymore", except when the Captain threw epithets at him. "Clay" sounded modern, exciting; something a secret agent or astronaut would be called.

"I think that's just fine. And may I call you 'Milt'?"

"I'd be pleased," was the reply. "Now, about your swing, I think there's only one way to help you get the hang of it."

Milton stepped behind Claymore and wrapped his arms over his, held his hands over Claymore's on the club handle and brought it up and then in a rapid twisting, swooping motion, down and against the ball. It flew through the air, arching up and slightly to the right, but stayed on the green. It was exciting to see it fly, but it was more exciting to feel the dentist behind him, holding him and twisting him into position. Claymore stopped breathing for a moment, startled and guilty.

"Let's do it again, Clay; then you can give it a try on your own." Once again, Milton held Claymore's arms and hands and twisted him through the stroke. Again, the ball flew down the fairway, but neither man looked at it. For one long moment, they stood together before Claymore stepped out of the backwards embrace. Milton looked down at the grass, waiting for Claymore to say something. It had been too long since he had held another man and it felt good. He had gone out with different women all these years since starting his practice just to please his mother and to prevent her from learning his secret. Her jealousy made the charade perfectly easy. But now the yearnings released after standing against the other man reminded him of all he was missing.

Claymore didn't know what to say. He certainly knew what homosexuality was, but he had never considered it for himself. Everything he had been taught and experienced told him that he should be thinking of women for physical and emotional comfort. Except that it had never worked out like that, despite his best efforts. Standing against Milt had felt good, not at all awkward like when he tried to hold a woman. Still, he was as confused as he'd ever felt in his life.

The dentist looked up an apologetic look in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Clay. I should have never taken the liberty. I do hope that you can put that behind you and just accept my friendship." Looking at the other man, Milton clearly understood that Claymore had never had another man touch him that way.

Claymore babbled, as he typically did when at a loss for words. At least this time he wasn't frightened. He certainly didn't want to run away. "I, well I…that is to say, I, I definitely want to keep your friendship. I do, do like you Milt. I've just never…well, you know…," he opened and closed his mouth several times, clicking his teeth together each time.

Milton winced. "Don't do that. Bad for your teeth. I do understand. I will leave the matter in your hands. If you want to explore this further, I would like that very much. If it's not for you, I will understand, and we can just remain friends. As long as you're not uncomfortable."

Studiously avoiding any discussion of the feelings stirred up between them, the two men finished their game. At half-past twelve, they picked up Milton's mother and went to a small Italian restaurant outside of Keystone.

"Mama, I'd like to introduce you to Claymore Gregg. Clay, my mother, Mrs. Ruth Rodman."

"How do you do, Mrs. Rodman?" Claymore took Mrs. Rodman's hand in both of his and then gallantly kissed it.

"Oh, "she giggled like a girl, "Milton, you should take a lesson from your friend. So continental!"

"It is my honor, Mrs. Rodman. Milton has spoken so highly of you," replied Claymore, doing his utmost to charm his friend's mother.

"Well, he is the best boy I know! I did raise him in an air of culture and refinement." She patted her son's cheek. "And he tells me that you also like many of the finer things in life, like the opera."

They entered the small bistro and were quickly seated. The maître' d brought only one menu to the table, handing it to Claymore. "Signora Rodman, your usual?"

"Yes, sparling mineral water with lemon for both my son and I. I will have the pasta with the marinara sauce. Milton?"

"Yes, same for me. Clay, what would you like?"

"I will have the pasta also, but with a Bolognese sauce, and plain water. Thank you."

Noticing Mrs. Rodman's grimace at the mention of the meat sauce, Milton leaned over to Claymore and quietly informed him that his mother was a vegetarian. Claymore was tempted to ask if it was catching, but then thought better of it. It was probably safer to return to the subject of opera.

"Yes, speaking of opera, I love it. I'd always wished I'd had the voice to sing professionally. I did some amateur productions when I was younger. Il Pagliacci, La Bohéme, that sort of thing. Oh, and once I was in the Rockport Community Playhouse production of Pirates of Penzance."

"How marvelous! You must sing to us sometime. Community theater and opera, even operetta, is so important, especially in these little towns, don't you think? Of course, one mustn't get ideas of a professional career. That is…déclassé."

Milton responded quickly. "Yes, Mama. Clay has a thriving business in Schooner Bay, and I'm sure he has no interest in a professional career in front of the lights."

"Schooner Bay? Oh, dear. That was where that dreadful woman was from."

"What dreadful woman, Mrs. Rodman? It's a small town and I can't think of anyone who is dreadful. Yes, some of the women in the PTA can be pushy, but you know how hard it is to get things done!"

"It was someone that wanted to trap my son into marriage, but I made sure that he was safe from her gold-digging. Her name was Martha Grant. I so hope you haven't encountered her, Claymore."

"Martha Grant? Why you couldn't meet a nicer person, Mrs. Rodman! I can't imagine why you didn't like her."

"Well, maybe you know something about her that we don't, Claymore," then leaning toward her son, speaking more quietly, "but I doubt it."

That evening, Claymore tidied up his desk, pulled the shades down on the office windows and went to his little apartment in the back. He took out a little birdseed for Dickie-Bird and made himself a sandwich. It wasn't as big a sandwich as those that the Captain usually called "that stack of stuff" because he had eaten all that pasta. And, if he admitted the truth to himself, he had a lot to think over about the day. Had he felt uncomfortable when Milt had embraced him? No he hadn't. He quite liked the feeling of strength in the other man's arms. He decided that feeling that again would be good. But what if Milt wanted to kiss him, even kiss him on the mouth. How would that feel? He didn't know. Claymore realized with a start that he was actually open to the idea. This was really taking a serious turn.

He wished there was someone he could talk to about this. Obviously, he couldn't approach his friends (and fellow council members, as well). Just thinking about discussing it with Uncle Daniel gave him _severe_ dyspepsia and more than a little twist in his gut. Perhaps…? No, he couldn't discuss this with a refined woman like her…could he? After all, she was college-educated, a writer and had grown up in a big, sophisticated city. He made up his mind to call Carolyn Muir the next day and ask her to come into town to talk about something "personal".

It was a rather wet morning, which was perfect for writing, thought Carolyn. No thoughts of taking a walk, and when it rained like this, the Captain usually spent time up in his wheelhouse or in the alcove going over his sea charts. The children were at school and Martha was cleaning. Nothing to occupy her mind except the article she was working on. So why did Claymore have to call and ask her to come into town that afternoon? What personal matter could he possibly want to talk to her about? Now she couldn't concentrate on the article. Blast!

"Madam, must I remind you once again that 'Blast' is not a lady's word?"

Carolyn sat back in her desk chair, a sigh of exasperation escaping her lips. "Captain, were you eavesdropping?"

"By no means, my dear. I am just aware of the feelings of those in my house. But, I do have excellent hearing."

"But I didn't say anything aloud." Sitting up straight in her chair, she looked intently at the ghost. "Did I?"

He laughed. "No, dear lady. You didn't speak. But I could hear you, nevertheless. Now tell me, what is troubling you?"

She explained Claymore's perplexing call. "That ninny's up to no good. I should have put that pusillanimous sea serpent out of his misery long ago! It would have made life…and after-life…so much easier with that spineless toad out of my affairs, and yours as well!"

"Captain, that may be true to a certain extent," Carolyn began, trying to be as calm and logical as Captain Gregg was angry and emotional. "However, if you just think a moment, you'd realize that without Claymore, my family and I wouldn't have rented Gull Cottage."

The captain calmed instantly. "Well, my dear. I suppose I must thank him for that," he said with a fond look in his eyes. "But," he pulled himself up to his full height and changed his expression back to irritation, "only that! Would you like me to meet you in his office this afternoon?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Whatever it is that he wants to talk to me about certainly can't be something that I can't handle."

"But what if he wants to raise the rent? What if he wants to cancel your lease?!" The ghost started to pace the floor. "I won't allow it! He won't dare to consider it once I have a little talk with him!"

Carolyn stepped over to him. "Ah, Captain Gregg. Aren't you putting the cart before the proverbial horse? We don't know what he wants to talk to me about, and whatever it is, I will handle it." He looked at her, ready to reply. "Ah-ah, Captain," she said, raising one very dainty, feminine finger, "I. Will. Handle. It. All by myself. Without your assistance, thank you."

"Very well. Just as long as we both know that I will not allow him to interfere with my family."

Carolyn was always a little surprised when she heard him refer to them as "his family". Still, she quite liked it. But, she had to have the last word in this. "_We_ will not allow him to interfere with _our_ family."

When Mrs. Muir got back to Gull Cottage late that afternoon, she looked utterly perplexed. The children ran down the stairs to the hallway to greet her, hugging her and talking over each other to tell her of their day. Martha came out of the kitchen and announced that she was just in time for dinner. The captain looked on with amusement at the high spirits surrounding Carolyn. She had quickly forgotten whatever it was that had occupied her mind when she entered the house and didn't look in the least worried, so he withdrew without having made himself known to her. Later, when the children were in bed and Martha was occupied elsewhere in the house, he came to her while she was sitting before the fireplace in "their" cabin.

"Please tell me, dear Mrs. Muir, what Claymore needed to speak with you about?" He settled himself in front of her on the large footstool.

"Oh dear," she thought to herself. This was probably going to be a very interesting conversation.

She cleared her throat. "First, you must promise me, Captain, that you will not materialize in front of Claymore and discuss this with him. It's none of your business, frankly, and I will only discuss it with you because I need to tell _someone_. He's got quite a lot to deal with right now and your keel-hauling him won't help in the least."

"Madam, you seem to have mistaken me for someone with a very bad temper! I am merely curious as to what personal business he had with you."

"He didn't have personal business with me. He just needed a friend. Someone to listen."

The captain was perplexed. "He needed someone to _listen_ to him? Whatever for?"

"Captain, do you promise not to speak to him about what I'm going to tell you?"

Captain Gregg raised his hand in the air. "Alright, I promise. Now what was this all about?"

Carolyn cleared her throat again. "Claymore is discovering that he is gay."

The captain looked at her as if she were daft then blinked his eyes a few times. He leaned in, "Claymore is happy? And he wanted to share this news with you? What is he happy about?"

"Oh, no, Captain," Carolyn giggle. "'Gay' has a new meaning these days. It is the new term for a homosexual male. Claymore had an encounter with someone -Milton Rodman, to be exact - and he seems to be finding it, ah, something that feels 'right' to him. He needed someone to help him start to sort out his feelings. Naturally, he is quite confused at the moment." She stopped and looked at him. How did he feel about this? After all, in his day, any discussion of sexuality of any stripe just never occurred. And sodomy laws were typical. People who never married were euphemistically called "confirmed bachelors" and "spinsters" or "maiden aunts" with a knowing wink. As long as dirty linen wasn't aired in public, homosexuality could just be ignored. But if it came out in the open, there were so many hells to pay, that it was impossible to know them all.

Surprisingly, the ghost of Daniel Gregg was calm. Carolyn had assumed that her report would set off a tirade, complete with lightning and thunder. Instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders. "Mrs. Muir, much as this is a very delicate subject, and one I wouldn't normally be discussing with anyone, much less a lady, I must explain that I am neither surprised at this turn of events, nor repelled by it. While it was not of interest to me, personally, many men on long sea voyages turned to each other for intimacy and comfort. There was nothing else to do, especially in the close quarters the able-bodied seamen shared. As long as the operation of the vessel was not impeded, most every commander turned a blind eye to it. I certainly did and the men were happier for it. You needn't worry about my taking Claymore to task, my dear. If you'd like me to reassure him, in fact…"

"Oh, no! That won't be necessary." She was absolutely stunned at the Captain's admission. She knew her father and father-in-law would be apoplectic over something like this. Daniel Gregg, however, the most virile man, or rather spirit that she had ever known was completely non-plussed. "It just goes to show you," she thought, "just when you think you have someone figured out, they go and surprise you!"

The next morning, Claymore picked up the phone and dialed the office of Dr. Milton Rodman, DDS. After being put on hold by his secretary for a few minutes, Claymore was glad to be connected to the dentist.

"Hi Milt, it's Clay. I was thinking about yesterday…by the way, your mother's a dear…and I was hoping that you'd like to have dinner with me."

Milton let out the breath he was holding. When Claymore said, "…I was thinking about yesterday…" he was sure that he was going to be told that their relationship was over before it had even begun. "Why, Clay! I'd like that very much. Tell me when and where."

"I was thinking about Norrie's again. His Shore Dinner is always very good. Maybe we can catch a movie, too. How would tomorrow night be?"

"That would be alright, although you do have to be careful in your hometown. We wouldn't want anyone saying anything. We're not some artistic types, 'lavender ladies' and such where people will be accepting. It could be very difficult for us, you understand. And of course, Mama must never know."

The next night the two men were walking back from the movie house to Claymore's apartment. They'd had a good dinner, caught a quirky little movie called "Harold and Maude" at the Schooner Bay Movie House and stopped for some ice cream before resuming their walk.

"Would you like to come in?" asked Claymore.

"Just for a moment to wash off this sticky ice cream, Clay. It's late and if I don't stop in and say goodnight to Mama, I'll never hear the end of it."

Claymore swept the door open. "Here it is, 'Chez Clay'. It even rhymes!" Both men laughed as Milton's eyes swept the small space. "The bathroom is this way," Claymore gestured. When he returned, Claymore asked if he'd like some coffee or a glass of something cold before he had to leave.

"No, Clay, thank you. I had a marvelous time together. Thank you so much."

The two men stood, looking at each other for a moment, and then Milton took Claymore in his arms and gave him a tender kiss. For a moment, Claymore froze and then began to enjoy the feel of the other man's lips on his and he kissed back. After a moment more, Milton stepped back. "I really must go home now. I'll call you tomorrow, Clay!" Claymore looked at the door after Milton left. Unlike the other day, he didn't feel any confusion or doubt. What he felt was elation.

A week and a half later, Claymore joined the Rodman's for dinner at their house. The parlor was done up all in chintz and lace, straight out of the 1910's and it was feminine to a fault. This was Ruth Rodman's house, the room declared, and there was no room for further discussion!

"It is so good to see you again, Claymore. I am delighted to have you as a guest in my home. Milton, dear, won't you bring out the lemonade?"

"Yes, Mama. Why don't I also take out some opera records, as well?"

"A wonderful idea," the elderly woman clapped her hands in enjoyment. "What would you like to hear, Claymore. I have all the best recordings, German, French and Italian opera, lieder, art songs, Caruso, Bjorling, Sutherland, Ponselle, even a rare recording of Nellie Melba!"

"Nellie Melba! Oh my, that _must_ be rare. She passed away in the thirties, didn't she?"

"Yes, you are correct. The disk is ceramic, and I only bring it out for very, very special guests."

"Then I am truly honored, Mrs. Rodman."

The trio spent more than an hour listening to the records, immersing themselves in other worlds. Afterward, Mrs. Rodman convinced Claymore to sing for them and he made a good showing with his lyric tenor.

"You have a delightful voice, Claymore!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Rodman. I don't get the opportunity to sing much anymore. There isn't much call for a singing real estate agent, I'm afraid," he giggled, and she and Milton laughed with him.

"You and Milton should go to Boston sometime to hear the Philharmonic or attend the opera when they are presenting something good. All this modern, a-tonal trash!" Milton couldn't believe that his mother, of all people, was setting up a legitimate reason for him and Claymore Gregg to spend a weekend alone!

"That's right, Mama. I wouldn't call that music. But have you read the reviews about some of the young, up-and-coming tenors like Carrera and Domingo? And there's another Italian, from Modena. His name is Luciano Pavarotti and they are calling him "The King of the High C's".

Claymore startled. In his mind he heard "King of the High Seas" and immediately thought of the Captain. He couldn't follow him here, could he? If his ancestor ever found out about the blossoming romance between him and Milt, he could see himself being hung by his feet from the mast at the top of Gull Cottage. Daniel Gregg was the very definition of a virile man, specter, errr, whatever. Well, he would just have to screw his courage up and face whatever the Captain had to say. It was his life and now that he was finally beginning to find his way, Old Spook-Face was just going to have to take him as he was!

"Oh, Clay?" Milton shook his shoulder lightly. "I said that dinner was ready to be served and we could go into the dining room. You were very far away there for the moment."

"Oh, yes. Yes I was. Sorry about that. For some reason, I was thinking about an ancestor of mine who was a sea captain. King of the High Seas, you see?"

"Well, you must tell me about him, sometime," replied Milton. "They say," his voice dropping into a whisper, "those old sailing men were quite something!"

"Ah, yes. You could certainly say that Great Uncle Daniel was 'something' or other. More 'other' than 'something', if you ask me."

"Well, I look forward to you telling me, or," helping his mother into her seat at the head of the table, "rather, us. Mama, did you know that Claymore counts an old New England sea captain among his ancestors?"

"Really, Claymore? How exciting! What was his name? He wasn't a pirate, was he? You're too nice and refined to have a pirate in your lineage!"

Claymore shook his head. "No, he wasn't a pirate, although some might have called him a scoundrel," He closed his eyes and took a breath. "He was Daniel Gregg. He built Gull Cottage over a hundred years ago."  
"Gull Cottage! Why that's where that Grant woman works. Was the portrait above the parlor fireplace him? I did notice it when we entered. He certainly was a handsome man."

"Mrs. Rodman, handsome is as handsome does. Captain Gregg may not have been a pirate, but he was a libertine, and an egotistical one at that."

"Oh, dear me! Well, I'm glad to see that you haven't taken after him, Claymore."

"A libertine! I'll have you know that I never promised marriage to any woman except Vanessa. And I never did more than a little innocent flirtting with married women. I never courted a woman to lead her on, no matter what they might have said. I was perfectly clear that I did not want to be tied down to anyone, except for that aberration with Vanessa, and when I returned to her, I had realized my error and honorably ended our engagement. So you have absolutely no right to call me a libertine!"

At first Claymore had been frightened with the ghost's appearance in his office. He obviously could follow him at least as far as Keystone, so he probably knew everything about him already. But then he realized that Captain Gregg was angry with him because of what Claymore had said about _him_, not about Milton Rodman.

"It's always about you, isn't it, Captain? You couldn't care less about anyone else. I'm really up to here with you and your tantrums," Claymore indicated a level above his head. "I have other things to deal with right now."

"You're not quivering?!" The ghost was shocked. "Perhaps there is some hope for you after all. And it is most definitely not 'all about me'. There are people in this world that are very much on my mind. It's just generally not _you_, my boy." The Captain straightened up to his full height and pulled on his jacket lapels as he marched back and forth in Claymore's office as if he were striding the deck of his ship. "However, if you continue to grow some backbone, I might just be inclined to think more positively about you. You have made a good start of it. Continue!"

"Continue what, exactly," asked Claymore as he looked up from some papers he was trying to concentrate on.

"Why, being yourself, of course. I've seen you with Dr. Rodman." Claymore turned red, then white and finally a green-gray shade. He relapsed into his frightened babble and inched away from the ghost as the Captain leaned over his desk. "Now, don't worry. This is your business and its not for me to say how you should live you life as long as you're honest. That means being honest with yourself, first and foremost."

The ghost turned away from him. "I think everyone will be much more comfortable, now, as you -and we- come to know the real Claymore Gregg." He whirled around quickly to face the astonished human. "Just don't bring that 'battle axe' to Gull Cottage. It will be uncomfortable enough for Martha if you bring Milton!"

The following week there was another shock for Claymore; Mrs. Rodman had gotten two tickets to the Boston Pops for him and Milton for the coming weekend. He arrived at their house a little after three on Friday afternoon and found that only Ruth Rodman was home.

"Welcome, dear Claymore. I'm so glad you could make it at this time. I wanted to speak to you before my son got home. Please won't you sit down in the parlor? Would you like a glass of lemonade?"

"No thank you, Mrs. Rodman. What is it you want to speak to me about?" Claymore's mind began to wander over the things she could possibly want to talk about. There was obviously the possibility that she wanted to speak about his "friendship" with her son, but perhaps it was also a business issue. She was calm and friendly, resting her hand on his arm as they sat down, so perhaps this wasn't going to be what he was afraid of.

"You know that Milton and I are very close."

"Uh oh," thought Claymore.

"And of course, I know my son better than anyone."

"Yes, Mrs. Rodman. I'm sure you do."

"So of course I realized from the time he began school that he was not like most other boys. I saw that he was effeminate, and his first-grade teacher spoke to me about it. I did my best to protect him, first from his father, before his untimely death, and then from everything that the world would throw at a homosexual man." Claymore's mouth fell open in shock. "Now, let me continue, dear. Milton doesn't realize that I know all about him. We've spent our whole lives playing this charade. He tries to appear interested in women and in turn, I do my best to give him an excuse not to pursue anyone for any length of time. There was one young man when my son was in college. He came up for a visit, but he was quite wrong for Milton. He was not going to sustain a serious and exclusive relationship with anyone, but I didn't say anything. Milton had the good sense to quickly realize that it wasn't what he wanted. Since then, there has been no one, until he met you. I can see why he finally felt he could introduce someone to me. And I want you to know, that I am happy that you and my son have found each other. Now I can finally relax!"

At Gull Cottage that evening, the Captain spoke with Mrs. Muir about what had transpired between the Rodman's and Claymore.

"You didn't really eavesdrop like that, did you?"

"Well, Madam. Now that Claymore is beginning to show some strength of character, I believe that I owe him some respect and care. I certainly wouldn't want anyone to say that I was only interested in myself, after all. And, legally at least, he is my heir. So yes, I did eavesdrop," He raised a finger as Carolyn opened her mouth to offer a rebuke. "But only out of affection, of sorts, for Claymore."

"Alright. But as I remember, the last time we talked about Milton Rodman and his mother, you told me that you knew 'all' about her. Did you know this as well?"

"Madam, as I said before, I know _all_ about the mother!"


End file.
